


Fame Made Me a Balloon

by zanzibar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, apparently I have things to say, brotastical, friends without benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibar/pseuds/zanzibar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nah,” Steven flashes a quick grin that’s still more teeth than anything friendly, “I gave somebody’s brother forty bucks and told him to buy me one and keep the change.”</p><p>"It's nice to see you're handling this well,"</p><p>In which James Neal is the rational one for once and Steven Stamkos is tired of being told how to feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fame Made Me a Balloon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Rarepairs Fest](http://hockeyrarepair.livejournal.com/649.html?replyto=7561).
> 
> I don't really have a dog in the TBL fight, but I have weirdly strong feelings about the trade with the Rangers and if I were Steven Stamkos I'd probably want to punch Marty in the face.
> 
> Title from Eminem's Monster because it seemed fitting.

"I am only showing you this because we’re friends and I trust you, and also because I am drunk."

Steven's voice is serious enough that James blindly sets his beer on the coffee table and sits up a little on the couch. On the screen of his iPad Stammer's holding up what appears, in the dim light of his living room, to be a regulation NHL standard-issue Lightning tshirt. It has a C on the front and for a minute James is surprised because Steven's really only been the captain of the Lightning for like 22 hours and that seems pretty fast for him to have been given all new gear.

Steven flips the shirt around though and it doesn't bear the expected 91. Instead it bears an unfamiliar 26, the name plate changed to read DEAD2ME in slightly off-center block letters

James’ eyes widen for a split second. Steven’s normally the most even-keeled of his friends - the perfect foil to James’ continual inability to control his own emotions. To say this is out of character is putting it lightly. "Please tell me that you paid actual money for that from merch and then did some kind of Holly Hobby craftomatic move on it." 

"I didn't have to, they were selling them in a gas station parking lot a block down from the Forum,” Steven’s grin is a little maniacal, too much teeth and an unfamiliar line of tension that James recognizes as the moment when everything you know about your life in the NHL is turned upside down.

“Don't tell me that you pulled into the parking lot of a gas station, a block down from what is basically your place of employment, in your shiny black Mercedes and shiny game day suit, rolled down the window and bought a ten-dollar tshirt that says your former linemate and captain,” James’ voice raises to something close to shrill, “is dead to you.”

“Nah,” Steven flashes a quick grin that’s still more teeth than anything friendly, “I gave somebody’s brother forty bucks and told him to buy me one and keep the change.”

"It's nice to see you're handling this well," James takes a sip of his beer and stretches to pull a coaster closer to the edge of the table.

"Oh I'm pissed," Steven slings the tshirt over his shoulder roughly enough that it slaps against his back. He aims a challenging look into the camera and takes a defiant swig of the Rum and Coke James knows he favors when he's interested in "drinking like a grown-up."

“We have a speed bag at the gym that I’ve been exercising my anger on. They took it down like I couldn’t just go to the store and buy one of my very own. I put it in the guest room. It’s surprisingly effective.” Steven shrugs like a guy who’s only ever been in one NHL fight.

“God when we were kids my dad bought 2 sets of boxing gloves and when we would fight he would pull them out, send us out in the backyard and just let us whale on each other,” James drifts a little at the memory. “Becs gave Mike a black eye one time and we never got to do it again.”

“That really explains a lot about your family,” Steven comments dryly.

“I think my sister likes you more than me,” James comments randomly, “she’s really excited for the captain thing and my mom said she always knew you’d amount to something. Which basically means that she expects me never to - “

“Everyone says I shouldn’t be mad,” Steven interrupts.

James chokes on his beer.

“Everyone can fuck off,” James coughs twice and clears his throat. “Nobody gets to tell you how to feel about this one Stammer.”

“I want to not be mad,” Steven swirls the ice in his glass, “I want hockey to be a business. To drop everything and go play with some awesome dudes from the OHL. To go where the highest offer is and not worry about the feelings that are hurt, to not care about the people I leave in my wake.”

“You aren’t that person,” James tries to look extra sincere, to look seriously into the tiny camera on the reflective screen and try and impart this tiny piece of wisdom to one of his closest friends “you’re never going to be that person and it’s pointless for you to try. Shitty things happen, Stammer, trades happen, people ask for trades, Luongo gets traded to the Panthers after everyone on earth believe that wouldn’t happen.” James flashes a grin before he turns serious again. “Sometimes people turn out to be not exactly what you believed they were.”

“I want to know when I’m going to stop looking for him,” he says it so quietly James can almost pretend he didn’t hear it, except when he keeps going, “I want to know what the timeframe is on being surprised when he isn’t in his stall, isn’t standing next to me during the anthems, goading every guy in the room into more reps while the trainers just smile, working the power play with me.” Steven drifts off while James tries to think of way to say that the only way you get over something like this is time.

Paul wanders into the periphery of James’ vision while they’re quiet, he replaces James’ empty beer bottle with a protein shake and a carton of coconut water. His hair is matted and spiked haphazardly from the beanie he was wearing earlier and his feet are bare. He angles his head toward the stairs and James’ smiles softly and watches in the little picture in the corner as Paul wanders into the kitchen.

“It takes time,” James admits, going for direct instead of tact, “it sucks for a while, feels empty and shitty and like betrayal and makes you want to hit things unnecessarily or watch a lot of really terrible reality TV.” He tries not to slurp his protein shake obnoxiously while Steven processes that.

“I just want what you have,” Steven’s voice is soft and James isn’t sure if he means a kick-ass boyfriend or amazing linemates or awesome hair.

“You’ll get it,” James gestures confidently with his half-empty protein shake glass. “You’re you Stammer, you win wherever you go.”

“I miss you jackass,” Steven’s face finally brightens a little and James feels like his mission is at least a little accomplished.

“I miss you too, jerk. See you soon, but,” James leans close until his face is bizarrely distorted and Stammer is laughing in the background. “Not too soon. We’ve still got work to do.”

“Yea, yea, yea,” Stammer pushes a hand at the camera as though to push his face away. “Goals to score, playoffs to make.”

“Hey,” James knocks the last of the protein shake back and tosses the coconut water into the air while he balances the iPad on his knees. “Don’t wear that shirt out in public, yea?”

“Jesus what kind of moron do you think I am James,”

“Do you understand how many times I’ve worn G’s hoodie on the arena cam Stammer?” James starts slowly, patiently, “Accidental clothes wearing is totally a thing that happens to people. It eats at your brain and then one day you have 2 pairs of Robert Bortuzzo’s sweatpants and he’s been in Wilkes-Barre for 2 weeks.”

“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t happen to me,” Stammer snorts a little and James metaphorically pats himself on the back.

“Whatever, you’d end up with like Bishop’s sweats or something, and then you’d worry that you were shrinking because they’d be so fuckin’ long on you.” James snorts at the visual image of Steven sweats baggy and hanging over the ends of his feet.

“This conversation has deteriorated into something that is no longer valuable to me.” Steven rattles the ice cubes in his empty glass primly and stares down his nose at James who’s still laughing to himself.

“Whatever, we have practice in the morning anyway,” James cracks open the coconut water and drains half of it one go, “stop trying to force yourself to have a specific set of emotions. You’ll give yourself an ulcer or something and the league already has a Captain Serious. We don’t need another.”

“I’m telling Tazer you said that,” Steven sets his iPad on the edge of the table and stretches his fingers and toes toward the ends of the couch. “He’ll hex you with the sheer volume of his earnest Canadian will.”

“I’m hanging up now,” James hovers a finger over the end button, “his eyes creep me out.”

“Be good J,” Steven grins and James tries to convince himself that he looks a little less stressed than he did at the beginning of this phone call.

“Be safe out there Stammer.” James punches the end button on the screen and rolls off the couch to go upstairs and collapse in bed.


End file.
